


Stand to Feel a Storm

by monanotlisa



Category: Fringe, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Bisexuality, Crossover, Gay Bar, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-08
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monanotlisa/pseuds/monanotlisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two US government employees meet in a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stand to Feel a Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Set immediately after 4x01.
> 
> Beta thanks -- profuse ones! -- to Ceitie.

Lincoln's come here to put Robert off his mind, not to be reminded of him.

But right across the _Last Call_ bar, there he is: this guy drinking his beer and staring off into space as if he weren't a dead ringer for his even deader partner. Lincoln feels his shoulders tense and his mouth get the tight look Robert used to say was his tell: _Action_.

Up close, he looks even more like Robert: pointy ear (the right one), two o'clock stubble, hazel eyes now focusing sharply on Lincoln. "Hey," so even his drawl is the same, "come here often?"

"No," Lincoln says, clipped, because he's come from a funeral, not to mention the opposite coast, courtesy of a certain clandestine division that obviously has a better travel plan and is intent on putting the 'Federal' back in 'FBI'. "Who are you?"

The guy blinks, then smirks with a genuine amusement that surprises Lincoln even through the fog in his brain. "Not into wasting time? I'm John."

"Of course you are." Lincoln searches John's face, looking for -- what, exactly? He's read the files on shapeshifters, the original ones from across the universe, but how could these creatures have...copied his partner? No puncture wounds in the gums; the autopsy file was very thorough, and so was Lincoln. And, more importantly, why? Lincoln is on a mission with Agents Dunham and Farnsworth, but as Fringe phenomena go, guests in an old hotel stepping into pockets of disjointed time? Minor incident. Or so Astrid had told him, and it's true it seemed like one of those accidents that are mere results of the rift. This clearly requires further investigation. "I'm Lincoln."

"Nice to meet you, Lincoln." John jerks his head at the bar. "Buy you a beer?" A lifted eyebrow -- just one of them -- and the hint of a smile. "Or a glass of wine? You seem like a wine kinda guy."

Yes, Lincoln is still in his suit (although he has lost the tie and opened the first two buttons of his dress shirt), and no, he doesn't really drink much at all. Which clearly didn't endear him to Olivia Dunham the night before, who knocked back two scotch before he could say so much as _unwise coping mechanisms, hello_. "I -- I'll have a beer." Slightly belatedly he remembers that while not by his mama, he was raised right too: "Thank you."

John nods, and there's interest in his eyes. Not just that, though. In his faded black t-shirt and jeans and the dimness of this Castro dive, John seems perfectly relaxed: just a guy, easy-going, laid-back, what have you.

But.

Lincoln sits down on the barstool that John has been nudging towards him for the past five seconds, and if he can't take his eyes off the guy, well, he can hardly be blamed given the situation, and in this type of place it won't be unexpected anyway. "So, John," Lincoln says, and tries a smile of his own for size, "do _you_ come here often?"

When John quirks his lips in a way Lincoln knows all too well, he also knows the answer. "Nah, just passing through."

Lincoln thinks. Not a businessman, nor a conman. He could be Robert's identical twin brother; maybe through some freaky, no, wait: fringe-y turn of events he actually is. In which case it'd stand to reason his preferences and skills are similar enough. And hey, it's a brave new world now, post-policies that made his last boyfriend suffer a nervous breakdown. "Military?"

John's face doesn't react, but his eyes do. He takes another sip of his drink and possibly comes to the same conclusion as Lincoln. "Yeah." And, par for the course, he looks Lincoln up and down. "G-man?"

Undercover he's not. Lincoln is pretty sure his smile is a lot less forced this time around. "Just wrapping up a case here in San Francisco. I'm sort of wanting to go home; things to do, villains to defeat."

"Same here." Some of the wariness is gone from John's eyes. Lincoln can't help but stare at the crows' feet around them: so familiar, and for once they'd be touchable too.

Lincoln doesn't need to be afraid of messing up the best, the closest relationship he's ever had here. On the other hand, this is probably a spectacularly bad idea, poking at a wound that's fresh and raw still. The universe obviously can't decide whether to hate or love him. Lincoln feels the same way about this situation. At least it's pretty improbable that someone -- something? -- has been tracking him to a bar he's never been to, and before he even entered it. Stochastics have failed him before, of course -- have failed him ever since a certain rooftop chase in a warehouse district, so there's still a remote chance this rakishly charming man not half as stupid as he acts is after all dangerous, an imposter, or both.

He won't find out unless he takes that chance, though. And goes for his relatively basic pick-up skills. Which Lincoln only had to master because the guys who in turn wanted to pick him up usually thought he was just a pretty face and a willing ass, which -- well, the first one is true, fair enough. As for the second... "John, how do you feel about getting some fresh air?"

His nod is casual, but Lincoln thinks it's also a little bit grateful. When John throws bills down next to his glass and turns towards his jacket, the light from behind the bar hits his eyes just so, turning them almost amber, just like -- Lincoln has to swallow. Not hard, but.

Outside, the fog is rolling in and chilling the night air. But Lincoln doesn't mind because John's mouth is warm, and the gun calluses on his hands slot perfectly in the soft groove underneath Lincoln's jaw.

**Author's Note:**

> for the [Fringe Kinkmeme](http://fringe-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org) in all its glory


End file.
